Wednesday, September 10, 2008

2008 September poem: ROSS'S FINAL CURE


Sometimes dreams can be really grisly
jokes. Ross's final hemorrhoid cure in this one was
like a lipstick tube with a sawblade along the side
and the person in whose effects it was found had
died from loss of blood. The rest of the dream was
my pointless explanation to the dead man
of remedies I had used that had
worked as well without killing me. One was a
homeopathic one -
combination # 30 I think -
but the best and last was taught me by
my yoga teacher: you put the tip of your tongue
to the roof of your mouth and hold it there for
five minutes. This produces a lot of saliva but
through some body magic causes the anal area
to be lubricated too. Each time you do it the time
before the next episode of
itching or pain increases until finally
there is no more next episode.
I don't think the dead man in my dream
benefited from my account though. Why did I
dream it? I don't have any anal
itching or pain but I do have a slightly
sore throat caused from sleeping all night with the
oxygen on, maybe that was it. And how I miss
that yoga teacher. The last time I saw him was
on a train - he had just come back from Nepal
and was working as The Amtrak Clown in the
children's car. Who knew there was an
Amtrak Clown? And why
don't they have
yoga classes in
nursing homes?

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